


Like Vines, We Intertwine

by paraflymore



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, friendship into something more, i follow canon somewhat but not really, season six
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 08:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11940339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paraflymore/pseuds/paraflymore
Summary: There are so many battles left to fight





	1. Where Will We Go

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I know you are probably confused but I decided to re-write this story because it had gotten away from me a bit... I decided to start a little earlier in the story than initially planned, mainly just because I feel like there are so many things that were left out between Jon and Sansa and I wanted to touch on them to establish their relationship a little more in my work. I hope you all enjoy. I am planning on posting the first couple of chapters back to back to keep a look out for the next one.
> 
> I also do no own anything, I am lazy so I am even copying some of the actually show dialogue but there will be plenty of original content of mine also.

She had never known cold like this before. It was biting at her, her skin chaffed from it, her long auburn braid lay frozen over her shoulder. Every breath was excruciating, as if she was drawing fire into her lungs.

But Sansa tell herself that she can endure, she has endured far worse things than the harsh winter ahead of her.

Her head was throbbing, and she longed for a warm bath, and a bowl of warm soup. It would warm her from the inside out. But right now, in this moment all Sansa Stark could do was survive. Luckily for her it was something she proved to be good at.

She raises her tired head, blue eyes scanning for the wall on the horizon. She had never seen it before, but Sansa grew up hearing stories about the wall, and she knew that once they were close she would be able to see it.

“Not much longer, My Lady.” Podrick informs her, his kind voice filtering through the worsening pain in her head. He offers her some warm water to drink but Sansa waves her hand at it.

“No thank you.” She tells him kindly. She had grown to care for the pair since they showed up to rescue her from Ramsay's men. She was still not sure if she trusted them, but they were taking her to Castle Black, and to Jon.

_Jon._

She thinks of her brother for the hundredth time since embarking on her journey. She cannot help but wonder if Jon will even want her there. She had never been very kind to him, she mostly ignored him but there were times when she was just out right awful.

The old Sansa could be so cruel.

But she was no longer that girl, and she would never be her again.

She would make him see that she had changed, she would prove to him that she was no longer that stupid little girl.

All she could hope was that he would allow it.

“Does your head still hurt, My Lady?” Brienne asks, her horse inching closer.

“I'm fine.” She lies, wishing that they would both stop fussing over her.

The tall blonde nods curtly and her horse trots a few paces a head of them.

“I know she seems a little rough around the edges, My Lady-” Podrick begins, “but she is...” He struggles to find the right words. “She will grow on you.”

Sansa offers him a weak smile.

They rode for another few hours, stopping only briefly so Sansa could warm her hands by a small fire. She did not want to stop but Brienne insisted. Sansa wasn't really used to someone genuinely caring for her, the last person she really trusted was her old handmaiden from King's Landing, Shae. She had been a good friend to her, and Sansa looked up at Brienne as her ice blue eyes scanned the perimeter of their small camp and she hoped that she could become her friend the same way the other woman had.

As for Podrick, Sansa knew he was harmless and good-natured. He did not look to have an evil bone in his body, and she couldn't help but like him.

The three of them were a good team, Sansa thought. Her and Brienne were quiet and Podrick filled all the silences with stories of his time as a squire.

Soon they were on their way again, and Sansa was growing so tired. “Will we reach Castle Black before nightfall?” She asks, praying that she would not have to spend another night in the wilderness.

She longed for a fire and a warm bed, though she dare not mention that want. She did not want to come off as a spoiled high born. She would endure and endure before any one thought that of her again.

“Aye.” Brienne says, “You can almost see the wall through the fog. We are close.”

Sansa cannot contain her smile this time, and it warms up her nearly frozen face.

It feels like days pass before they reach the gates, but Sansa knows it was could only have been a few hours.

She has driven herself mad with thoughts of what she might find on the other sides of those gates, and now she was about to come face to face with whatever that might be.  
She could picture Jon so clearly, the young boy who left Winterfell for the Nights Watch. That Jon had been so serious. She hardly ever saw him crack a smile, and when he did it was never towards her.

The horns sound, and she jumps despite herself. She can hear the men on the other side yelling for the gate to be opened, and she suddenly feels nervous. As the large gates creak open, Sansa feels her heart flutter in her chest.

She had thought her whole family was gone, she truly believed that she was the only living Stark left alive. And now... she was about to reunite with another one.

Yes, Jon was never a Stark in name, but he was just as much their father's son as Robb, Bran and Rickon.

There are fifty sets of eyes on them as they trot through the muck of half frozen mud. These men are so puzzled by the sight before them. Sansa does not blame them. She scans their faces, searching only for him.

Her heart falters for a moment, she thinks: _Jon isn't here._

But then she turns around, and standing up on the top of one of the landings is a face she never thought she would see again.

She wonders if Castle Black has ever been so quiet before as he begins to descend the stairs, making his way slowly and almost wearily towards her.

Its a mask of shock that covers the older boy's face – man she thinks. Jon is a man now. His dark eyes are swimming in emotions, and Sansa can feel her own eyes tearing up. A lump in her throat keeps her from speaking as he comes closer.

His dark eyes scan over her briefly, as if he is making sure she is real and not some sort of dream.

Sansa imagines her eyes to be mirrors of the same emotions.

Her heart leaps into her throat, the masks she has worn for so long finally shedding away, and she was just a girl and could quite possibly be the only person who could save her. Sansa flings herself at him, unable to stand the distance between them any longer and Jon steps forward to catch her.

Sansa cannot help but feel safe in his arms even though she knows that its not true. She will not be safe until all of her enemies are gone. But she relishes in this moment, allowing herself to savory the peace that settles around her heart.

Even if it is just for a moment.

 

* * *

 

 

A warm fire burned inside the fireplace, the tub basin had been moved close to the fire to keep her warm. Brienne had helped her fill the tub, and then told her she would keep watch outside while she bathed. She could hear her out there, pacing back and forth. It made her smile, the scuff of her boots against the wooden floors.  
Sansa doesn't ever remember being so dirty before. The mud and the muck had been so caked on her skin that it almost hurt to clean it off.

The water had turned gray, and the candles lit around the room had almost burned out. Sansa has no sense of time, she does not care if she has sit inside of this tub for days. She wanted to wash off the past, and emerge from this bath a new person.

But Sansa knew no matter how much she washed and rinsed she could not erase all that has happened to her. Yet she still tried, scrubbing her skin until it turned pink. She took the last bit of water Brienne had warmed by the fire for her and stood up, pouring the still hot water over her head.

Sansa knew it was time to talk to Jon.

She thinks that she had been dreading this part most of all, because she did not wish to speak about the horrors she has suffered since the last time she saw him. She did not wish to tell him about Ramsay or anything that happened at Winterfell.

But she knew she would have to.

Jon had some clothes laid out for her inside the room. She wraps herself up in the warm cloth draped over the chair and unfolds the garments.

It was pair of pants and a black men's undershirt. She wonders if these are his own clothes, and she brings them to her nose to smell them and is assaulted with the smell that had filled her lungs when she jumped into his arms. Wood and smoke. Jon.

She dries herself off and gets dressed quickly, fearing the cold more than anything else at the moment.

Sansa is finally presentable, and she holds her head up high as she opens the door. Brienne's bright eyes greet her and Sansa smiles, touching her arm as she speaks. “You should clean up as well Lady Brienne.” Her eyes land on Jon who rises from the stool he had been perched on and stood silently there, his dark eyes waiting.

Brienne doesn't seemed pleased about leaving her and Sansa really does appreciate her protectiveness but she doesn't need to be that way with Jon.

Sansa looks up at her and smiles reassuringly. “I'll be fine.”

She meets him halfway down the hall, he stands there stoically, his eyes reflecting the flames from the candles. He holds out a cloak for her, a small smile on his lips. “I'm having your dress cleaned, and your cloak was in tatters, I hope this will do until we can find the fabric to have you one made.”

Sansa's hands reach out for the cloak, her eyes somewhere far away. She recognized this cloak. “This was yours, from Winterfell.”

“Aye.” He says, “I hope it will suffice for now.”

Sansa looks up at him. “It will do just fine.” She tells him, sliding it over her shoulders and tying it around her waist. “Thank you Jon.”

He nods, tilting his chin down the hall towards his room. “I had some soup brought up for you.”

Her stomach growls, she was starving. But ladies did not say such things, so she just follows him into the room, clutching at her stomach to keep the growls at bay.  
“Lord Commander?” She asks, raising an eyebrow as he handed her a bowl of soup.

Jon shakes his head. “Not anymore.”

Sansa nods, looking down into the bowl, the smell of meat stew filled her senses and her mouth began to water. She brought the bowl to her lips and took a large sip. She watched him over the rim, easing towards a small table where he poured himself a horn of ale and took a long drink.

“What happened?” She asks, her voice small and meek.

Jon took a deep breath, refilling his cup before he turned to face her. “I might as well tell you now, Gods know you will hear it from them eventually.”

“Hear what?”

Jon sit down next to her, his eyes pained. “They killed me.”

Her stomach twists on itself and she almost loses the soup she has just swallowed.

“You've seen the wildlings here, my men, some of them didn't agree with me bringing them here and working with them.”

“How are-”

“The Red Woman, she brought me back.” His voice cracks and Sansa watches as he raises his horn and finishes his drink. “I was heading south and then...”

“I showed up.” Sansa finishes, looking at the fire for a few long moments.

Jon rises up from his stool and fills his cup again. “I don't want you to be frightened of me Sansa.”

“Why would I be frightened?” She asks seriously. “I would have been frightened to come here and find you dead. If anything I am grateful to this Red Woman for bringing you back.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he sits back down, and Sansa takes another long sip of her soup. Was it her turn now? She thinks, was it her turn to tell of all the awful things she had endured? Sansa finds herself choking on the words in her throat.

“How did you get here?” He asks, it was such an open ended question, and Sansa was not sure how to begin. “I escaped Winterfell, with Theon.”

“Theon Grayjoy?”

She nods. “He helped me escape, he told me you were here at Castle Black.”

His jaw clenches in anger.

“He told me other things too, about our brothers.” Sansa finds herself smiling. She had mourned their death, she had thought them dead just like everyone else. “He didn't kill them, they're alive somewhere.”

Jon took a long drink of his ale. “Arya?”

“I thought she was dead, the Lannisters looked for her for so long, but Lady Brienne, she told me she seen her not long ago, said she looked for her for days but never found her.”

“Is she's alive?”

Sansa nods. “I imagine she is.”

This brings a smile to his face, and Sansa finds it beautiful. He always did love Arya best, they were probably the closest of them all.

“I was in hiding for a while with Lord Baelish in the Eyrie, I posed as a bastard girl, until he-”

Jon leans forwards a bit, his head tilting to the side as he listens.

“He killed my mother's sister, and I- I let him get by with it. I lied to the Lord's and Ladies of the Eyrie.” She takes a deep breath. “I was just so afraid, I was worried they would send me back to King's Landing.” Her voice cracks. “I almost wish they had. Then he would have never have given me to the Bolton's.” Her blood curdles as she speaks the name, she gets and awful taste in her mouth and she feels like she might be sick.

“We don't have to talk about that, not now.” Jon says, as if he can read her mind. His eyes are on the fire, and she takes a breath of relief. Maybe he knew, maybe Brienne had told him what she knew, or maybe it was just written all over her.

Sansa takes another sip of the soup, the savory taste slides down her throat and she looks over at him and finds him already looking at her. “This is good soup.” She says, feeling more than a little silly for saying it out loud.

Jon nods slightly.

“Do you remember those kidney pies Old Nan used to make?” She asks, trying her hardest to deter the conversation away from her.

He smiles, as if he suddenly remembers them himself. “With the peas and onions?”

Sansa smiles. It was as if both of them are thinking of it now, of home.

“We never should have left Winterfell.” His voice is solemn and his eyes are a million miles away.

“Don't you wish we could go back to the day we left?” she draws in a painful breath. “I want to scream at myself, don't go you idiot.”

“How could we know?” He asks, his voice gruff and full of anguish.

“I spent a lot of time thinking about what an ass I was to you.” Sansa says, and Jon looks down at the floor, adverting her eyes for a moment he looks like the boy she used to know. “I wish I could change everything.”

“We were children.” He tells her a smile playing at his mouth.

“I was awful, just admit it.”

He chuckles. “You were occasionally awful.” he almost says this jokingly, and Sansa is sure he is only trying to spare her feelings. “I couldn't have been great fun, always sulking in the corner while the rest of you played.” He says, smirking at her now.

Sansa smiles. “Can you forgive me?”

He shakes his head. “There's nothing to forgive.”

“Forgive me.” She insists, raising her voice a little to overpower his softer one.

“All right.” He relents, looking up to meet her eyes. “All right, I forgive you.”

She laughs, and looks over at his horn of ale she reaches for it and Jon raises an eyebrow but hands it over. Sansa swallows the bitter tasting ale, well intent on acting as if it tasted good but it chokes her and she cough as she hands it back to him. He's laughing now, shaking his head at her.

“You'd think after thousands of years the Night's Watch would have learned how to make a good ale.” He jokes, looking back at the fire.

Sansa looks over at him, her eyes still watering from her coughing fit. Another silence falls over them and she suddenly feels sad, the lightheartedness of their conversation is slowly fading. “Where will you go?” She asks, her voice is quiet and soft. She thinks she sounds like a small child.

Jon looks over at her, his eyes staring right into hers. “Where will _we_ go.” He corrects her. “If I don't watch over you, father's ghost will come back and murder me.”

“Where will we go?” She asks again smiling a little.

“Can't stay here, not after what happened.” He looks back at the fire again, his eyes are weary and sad again.

“There is only one place we can go.” Sansa says. “Home.”

He looks over at her, an incredulous look on his face. “Should we tell the Bolton's to pack up and leave?”

“We'll take it back from them.”

He raises up straight, looking at her through those guarded dark eyes. His face was a mix of amusement and worry. “I don't have an army.”  
“How many wildlings did you save?”

“They didn't come here to serve me.” He looks down, sitting his horn of ale on the ground.

“They owe you their lives.” Her voice is full of conviction and she rises up from her seat only adding to that. “Do you think they'll be safe here if Roose Bolton remains Warden of The North.” She sits her empty bowl on the table and turns to look at him. He was still looking at the fire, still not turned to face her yet.

“Sansa-”

She continues, ignoring him. “Winterfell is our home, it's ours and Arya's and Bran's and Rickon's. Wherever they are it belongs to our family, we have to fight for it.”

“I'm tired of fighting.” He tells her, the anger was clear in his voice. He rises up, turning to look at her, “Its all I've done since I've left home, I've killed brother's of the Night's Watch, I've killed wildlings, I've killed men that I admire.” His voice is growing louder, more frantic as he speaks, but Sansa does not back down. “I hanged a boy, younger than Bran.” His eyes almost seem to tear up at the revelation. “I fought and I lost.” His eyes are so full of pain, and Sansa can tell he's broken inside, but so is she, and he doesn't just get to stop fighting, not as long as he's drawing breath into his lungs.

“If we don't take back the North, we will never be safe.” She tells him, stepping closer to him. “I want you to help me, but I will do it myself if I have to.”

He almost looks shocked, his dark eyes settling on her face. “You should get some rest.” He says, “I'm sure you are very tired after your long journey.”

Sansa begins to speak, but Jon isn't listening anymore, he's gone back to pick up his cup of ale and it looking at the fire, a far away look on his face. She doesn't want to argue with him, she really doesn't have the strength for it. He was right, she was tired.

But they both knew this conversation is far from being over.


	2. Come and See

Sansa picked aimlessly at the bowl of food in front of her. She hadn't slept well the night before and she wasn't very hungry. She didn't even want to ask what was inside of her bowl. She had learned a lot about the men in Castle Black, simply by observing them. It seemed as if her brother had two very trusted friends in Edd and Tormund both of whom sat with them that morning over breakfast.

All that could be heard were the chewing sounds of all the men at the table, all of whom seemed to have no worry about what their plates contained.

Brienne watched them all with an amused smile on her face, even Podrick was eating like the rest of them. The two of them exchange a look and Sansa almost laughs. Brienne could say so many things with one look.

Brienne then looks at the big guy next to Jon, who was already watching her. His eyes were wild, and he bit into the piece of meat in his hands and wriggled his eyebrows at her.

She shifted uncomfortably away and scooted a little closer to Sansa on the bench.

“Sorry about the food.” Edd says to her kindly. “It's not what we're known for.”

She smiles down at her plate. “It's all right, there are more important things.”

He smiles back at her and Sansa finds herself feeling almost at home with all of these gruff men, when the door opens.

Jon and Tormund turn to look at who enters the room, and the man holds out a scroll to Jon. “A letter for you Lord Commander.”

Jon just stares at the man for a long moment before he speaks. “I'm not Lord Commander anymore.”

Sansa notices how hurt Edd looks over his statement and she looks down at her food while Jon finally takes the scroll from the messenger.

She knew who it was from, she had been waiting for it to arrive.

Her eyes watch him cautiously as he removes the seal and unrolls the letter. The entire table's eyes are on him, and Sansa finds herself unable to draw in a steady breath.

“To the traitor and bastard Jon Snow.” Sansa looks down at her food, stabbing her fork into a piece of meat as he continues to read. “You allowed thousands of Wildlings past the wall. You have betrayed your own kind, you have betrayed the North.” His voice is flat, lack of any and all emotion. But Sansa can see the anger rising in him. “Winterfell is mine bastard, come and see.” He takes a small breath.

Sansa feels her chest tighten.

“Your brother Rickon is in my dungeon-” his voice cuts off suddenly, and he looks away from the parchment and right at her. There is no sound but both of their hitched breathing. Jon turns his attention back to the letter. “His direwolf's skin is on my floor, come and see. I want my bride back. Send her to me bastard, and I will not trouble you or your wildling lovers.”

The fear is rising in her throat, but Sansa remains a mask of calm. She will not let Ramsay Bolton frighten her anymore.

“Keep her from me and I will ride north and slaughter every wildling man, woman and babe living under your protection.” This makes Tormund's body rigid with anger and he leans closer as Jon continues to read. “You will watch as I skin them living. You...” He stops suddenly, his eyes focusing on the words written there.

“Go on.” Sansa tells him. She wanted to hear the whole thing, she needed to hear it because she knew he was no where near finished threatening them all. She wanted them all to know the type of person they were dealing with.

“It's just more of the same.” He says,tossing it away from him and looking away in anger.

But Sansa reaches for it, she was going to finish it. She had to.

“You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister. You will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother. Then I will spring your eyes from their sockets and let my dogs do the rest. Come and see. Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” She sits the parchment down on the table and looks across it at Jon. His eyes are cast downward, he will not meet her gaze and it is maddening.

“Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North?” He asks, his dark eyes lifting to look at her

“His father's dead.” Sansa tells him. “Ramsay killed him. And now he has Rickon.”

“We don't know that.”

“Yes we do,” She tells him, almost before he could finish.

“How many men does he have in his army?” Tormund asks her, his voice gruff and unyielding.

She thinks, she had heard him speak of his armies before. “I heard him mention five thousand when he was talking about Stannis' attack.”

Jon turns to Tormund his body rigid with anger. “How many do you have?”

“That can march in a fight? Two thousand, the rest are children and old people.”

Sansa doesn't know much about battles, but she knows that it isn't enough men to even make a dent in Ramsay's army.

Jon's eyes meet hers and it is as if he is searching hers for something. Reassurance maybe? Its why she begins to speak in a earnest tone. “You are the son of the last true Warden of the North,” Sansa tells him. “Northern families are loyal, they will fight for you if you ask.”

His eyes drift slowly away, and there he is, that boy she knew back in Winterfell, the bastard who knew he could never be anything else.

Sansa reaches for his hand, her voice louder and more frantic this time. “A monster has taken our home and our brother.” She squeezes his hand and his eyes meet hers. “We have to go back to Winterfell and save them both.”

The silence seems to stretch out before them ,charged with this energy that was buzzing off Sansa's skin, making her feel alive and powerful for the first time in so long.

Jon's eyes meet her gaze and he looks at her, still resembling that boy, but he nods his head. The only assurance he offers her.

Sansa remains, holding onto his hand, drawing in a ragged breath.

Jon slips his hand from hers. She could see he was angry and agitated at this point and she felt bad for pushing him so far. He rises up from the table and leaves them there staring at each other. Sansa is the first to move to follow him, she is weary but she doesn't want him to be angry with her.

She finds him outside, his hand holding tightly to the banister of the stairs, his knuckles were white and his jaw was clenched tightly.

Sansa drew in a quick breath as the cold hit her, “Jon.”

He turned slowly to face her.

“I'm sorry.”

He shakes his head. “What are you sorry for?”

“Asking this of you-”

Jon shakes his head, his jaw working underneath that black scruff beard on his cheeks. “You're right we have to fight, there isn't any other way for me to keep you safe.”

After he is quiet for a brief moment he notices her shivering. “They should be back with the fabric for your cloak sometime today.”

Sansa smiles. “I'm fine.”

He shakes his head. “You should go back inside, I just need a moment to myself.”

“Okay.” She wraps her arms tightly around herself and turns to leave, stealing one last look at him. He looked as worried as she had ever seen him before.

Sansa couldn't sleep, it was not something new. She had been having nightmares since her father was murdered. It didn't mean she ever got used to them though. This one was of Ramsay, his hands reaching for her in the dark, his breath on her skin.

“You're mine.”

He would always say, his laughter twisting like a knife in her gut.

Her feet hit the cold floor and she slipped her boots on, grabbing Jon's cloak from the chair she had laid it over. She went to the small table and lit a candle.

Sansa pulled the cloak tightly around her as she ventured towards her door, as it creaked open she came face to face with Podrick, he looked as if he had been nodding off and sprung to life when she stepped into the darkness of the hallway.

“Is everything okay My Lady?”

She nods. “Yes, I'm fine.”

“Do you need me-” He raises up clumsily and his sword falls to the ground. He scrambles to pick it up and Sansa bites her lip to keep from laughing.

“I'm fine, really Podrick.”

“Where are you going?” He asks, his voice full of concern.

“I need to speak with my brother.” She tells him, already inching down the hallway. “You should get some rest.”

He nods, already sinking back down on the stool. “Yes Milady.”

Sansa tries to ignore the shadows cast upon the long hall as she makes her way towards Jon's room. They are just shadows she tells herself. Nothing more. She remembers all of the stories that Old Nan used to tell them when they were kids, stories that she stopped listening to because they frightened her so. But it was not the demons and the monsters in her stories that Sansa was afraid of now.

She knew what real monsters looked like now.

Her knuckles rap against his door and Sansa almost turns to leave but the door flies open. His eyes are wide, his face full of concern.

“I'm sorry, did I wake you?”

He shakes his head, “I couldn't sleep actually.”

“Me either.”

He steps aside and lets her in. Sansa smiles when she sees Ghost lying in the floor next to the fireplace. She finds herself wondering if Lady would have grown to be that big. “I never thought I would see another direwolf.” She says, sitting the candle on the small table and kneeling down to pet his pristine white fur. “He might just be the last one left.”

The wolf revels in her scratching his side, and shifts over so she can rub his belly.

Sansa lets out a laugh, and turns to look at Jon.

He smiles, easing onto the stool next to the fire, one hand dragging slowly across the wolf's fur. “He's survived a lot.”

Sansa smiles.

“What happened to Lady?” He asks, his voice soft in the darkness.

“Cersei, it was on the King's Road after we left Winterfell.” She whispers, unable to meet his gaze. “Nymeria, she had attacked Joffery because he was going to hurt Arya.” She can almost relive the moment there, and it pains her so much, thinking back to how stupid she had been. “He was going to kill her and I-” She swallows the lump in her throat, refusing to cry. “I did nothing.” Her fingers scratch softly behind his ear and he lets out a long sigh. “Arya somehow got Nymeria to run off, clever girl, and they took Lady instead.” Sansa looks up at him expecting to find him angry, but he only looks sad. “Father spared her from being butchered by Ilyn Payne, he killed her mercifully.”

“We were all doomed the moment they rode into Winterfell.”

“Aye.” She says, settling her back against the large wolf. She could close her eyes and still see Lady's kind face. She could still feel her rough tongue licking her face and hand affectionately.

“I hated her for it,” Sansa admits. “Arya, for getting my direwolf killed. It was wrong I know.”

“You were upset.”

Sansa nods. “I was stupid.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “I don't think you're stupid at all Sansa.”

She smiles softly, her eyes drifting closed as she rests her head on the soft fur, she can feel his rib cage expanding as he breathes and the sound lulls her closer to sleep.

Jon opens his mouth to speak and notices that she is out. She looks so peaceful that he doesn't want to disrupt her but he can't let her sleep on the floor. Not when there is a perfectly good bed just a few feet away. He rises up and leans over to pick her up. The smell of her invades his senses and he is momentarily stunned.

She was his sister, and yet she felt more like a stranger than anything.

Just when he thinks he's got her figured out he uncovers another layer to her. Ghost follows as he leads her to the bed, looking at Jon with his head tilted to the side, as if to ask for permission to sleep in the bed.

He chuckles, patting the mattress and the direwolf hops up, curling up beside the beautiful sleeping girl. Her hand curls up in his fur and she lets out a soft sigh.

Jon smiles, leaving her to her slumber. He walks slowly over to the pitcher of ale and pours the horn to the brim. He found that if he drank enough ale he could eventually pass out and get some rest.

If he attempted to rest his eyes he would see them, those men who betrayed him. He would feel their swords inside of him, and he could hear his heart stop beating.

But when he drank enough ale sleep came and there were no dreams, there was nothing really, nothing but darkness and he would take that over the demons any day.


	3. Things Ladies Aren't Supposed to Talk About

When Sansa woke up that next morning, curled up next to Ghost she realized she had slept the whole night without a nightmare. The wolf's eyes were looking at her in such a human way as she rose up, her eyes still blurry from sleep.

She scratched the thick fur beneath his chin and smiled at him. He hopped up from the bed, shaking his fur out and stretching his lean body with a small little yawn.

Sansa rises up, wondering how she got to be inside Jon's bed, the details of the night before came flooding back to her and she smiled slightly, thinking of him carrying her into his bed.

She eases into the other room, finding him asleep. He was sitting at his desk, his arm as a pillow. Even in sleep his face was pained, and Sansa cannot help but notice that aside from the scowl on hos face, he was quite handsome.

She felt bad for taking his bed, guilty that he had to sleep in what looked like an uncomfortable position.

That is when she notices the empty horn next to his arm, and the empty pitcher that she remembers was full the night before.

But Sansa dismisses the thoughts. He had been through so much, just like her he must need something to help him through.

She could not even imagine how it must feel, having died and been brought back to life.

Did he have his own nightmares?

He stirs, and his eyes flutter open and she is embarrassed to have been caught staring at him.

“Forgive me.” She says, stepping backwards. “I-"

Jon took a deep breath, his eyes focusing on her. “Sansa. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, thank you for letting me sleep here.” She looks back at Ghost, who seemed to be watching them, his head tilted a bit to the side.

“I hope you slept well.” He says, brushing his lose hair back and refastening his bun.

She nods. “Yes, very well.”

“You can take Ghost with you tonight, he seemed to help you sleep.”

Sansa shakes her head. “Oh no, Jon I couldn't.”

“I insist.” He says, smirking at her. “I think he is growing quite fond of you.”

Sansa smiles, reaching to touch his fur. “Thank you Jon.”

He nods. “I've got a few things to take care of, we'll meet with Ser Davos to go over some battle plans.”

"We?”

He nods. “I will see you then?”

Sansa nods. “Aye, you will.”

Jon mimics her nod and smiles a small smile as she turns to leave, the white direwolf on her heels. After she shuts the door behind her Jon lets his smile fade and drops his head into his hand.

His whole body hurt, sleeping the way he did had not been a good idea. But he would not allow himself to crawl into that bed, he did not want to cross a line with his sister.

Her honor was more important to him than anything else.

If someone caught them, even if both of them knew it was innocent, they would begin to talk.

And he could not have that.

Not for Sansa.

She had suffered enough.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon had gotten her the fur and the fabric for a cloak for herself, but Sansa had other plans for the materials.

She had grown accustomed to his old cloak, there was a comfortability to the old cloak, it reminded her of simpler days and mostly it reminded her of Jon.

She wanted to do something nice for him, a small token of her gratitude.

She had been sowing all morning, ever since she woke up. It was quiet, Ghost lay sleeping by the fireplace and she sat facing him, humming softly to herself as she sowed.

It felt like simpler times, she felt like a simpler girl.

But it was all short lived.

There was a knock at her door, and a scroll with a mockingbird seal.

Lord Baelish.

Her stomach sank at the sight of the bird. The sigil he had created for himself. The same one he wore as a pin on his clothes.

She cracked the seal, unrolling the parchment and scanning over the words quickly.

“How far is Mole's Town?” she asks the messenger, a brother of the Night's Watch, the same man who delivered the letter to Jon the day before.

“About half a league, My Lady.”

“Thank you.” She says, standing up as he leaves.

Brienne was not happy about traveling to Mole's Town with her, especially when Sansa told her who asked for this meeting. But she had somehow convinced her to take her.

“If he says one thing out of the way to you-”

Sansa smiles up at her, “You'll kill him?”

She nods.

“I wouldn't expect anything less of you Brienne.”

“Are you sure this isn't a trap Lady Sansa? Perhaps we should have told someone we were coming here.”

“Do you think they would of let us leave?”

Brienne looks at her and Sansa knows that is the exact reason she would want to tell someone. Jon would have never allowed her to leave, not without coming with her, and she knew Jon would not allow Lord Baelish to live.

Sansa was not too keen on the idea of letting him live, but she wanted to get some things out of him first. He owed her that much.

He is standing there, his beady eyes light up at the sight of her, and Sansa's stomach churns at the soft smile on his thin lips.

“Sansa.” He says, and Sansa knows if snake's could talk they would very well sound like Petyr Baelish. It sends her blood boiling. He would take this route, this innocent route.

When he notices the tall blond behind her his face falls. “Lady Brienne.” His eyes shift from her and then back to Sansa. “When I heard you escaped Winterfell I feared the worse.”

His voice breaks a little and Sansa had to give him credit, he is definitely good at playing this part. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you unharmed.”

“Unharmed?” She asks him, her voice almost amused, she had no time for this she wanted to get down to the real issue. “What are you doing here?”

“I road north with the Knights of the Vale to come to your aid, they're encamped at Moat Cailin as we speak.”

“To come to my aid?” She asks, the amusement more plain in her voice this time. “Did you know about Ramsay? If you didn't, you're an idiot if you did know you're my enemy.”

She steps forward, Sansa can tell that he struggling to keep the facade, she can see him crumbling right there in front of her. “Would you like to hear about our wedding night?”

She asks, watching Lord Baelish draw in a deep breath. “He never hurt my face, he needed my face the face of Ned Stark's daughter...” She takes a deep breath. “But the rest of me, he did what he liked with the rest of me.” Sansa almost chokes on the words but she feels lighter somehow, having spoken them out loud. “As long as I could give him and heir.”

Lord Baelish looks at her, his face unmoving from this satire of shock and remorse. But she knows it's all an act, everything about this man was an act.

“What do you think he did?” She asks, growing braver by the second. Each word she spoke was freeing, it was like she too stood there in armor, just like Brienne.

He struggles to find the words, shaking his head a little. “I can't begin to contemplate--”

“What do you think he did to me?” She asks, even bolder this time.

He's stunned really, that is the only explanation to why he isn't speaking. Sansa does not think he ever considered the possibility that she would ever confront him about this.

He still thought she was that naive child he met in King's Landing.

“Lady Sansa asked you a question.” Brienne pipes in, and Sansa can hear her armor reach for the sword on her hip.

Lord Baelish's eyes cautiously look at her and then back at Sansa. “He beat you.”

“Yes, he enjoyed that, what else do think he did?”

“Sansa-” He begins but she cuts him off.

“What else?”

“Did he cut you?”

An amused smile slides across her face. “Maybe you did know about Ramsay all along...”

He shakes his head. “I didn't know.”

“I thought you knew everyone's secrets?”

“I made a mistake, a horrible mistake. I underestimated a stranger,” He steps towards her, his hands up in defense.

Sansa feels no remorse towards him. “The other things he did ladies aren't supposed to talk about those things, but I imagine brothel keeps talk about them all the time.” She says, looking right into his eyes as she speaks. “I can still feel it.” She says, her voice feels like bile in her throat, but she must continue, she has to get it out. “I don't mean in my tender heart it still pains me so, I can still feel what he did in my body standing here right now.”

“I am so sorry.” He says, and he almost sounds close to tears. If she didn't know him so well she might actually believe him.

“You said you would protect me.” She spits each word at him, each one more angrier than the last.

“And I will, you must believe me when I tell you that I will...”

She cuts him off, her voice louder than his. “I don't believe you anymore.” She barely takes a breath before she is speaking again. “I don't need you anymore. You can't protect me, you wouldn't even be able to protect yourself if I tell Brienne to cut you down.”

The look of fear on his face is so satisfying, Sansa revels in it. She imagines having looked that way herself a time or two.

But now, she held the upper hand.

It was liberating.

“And why shouldn't I?”

“Do you want me to beg for my life?” He asks. “If that is what you want, I will.”

Sansa stares at him, unmoved by his words.

“Whatever you ask that is in my power, I will do.”

“What if I want you to die, here and now?” She asks, her voice as cold as the winter winds blowing outside.

“Then I will die.”

Sansa found herself wanting to reach out and strike him, but she could not, Ladies didn't do such things, and she felt bad for even thinking it. For now, her words would have to do. She would use them as her weapons to cut him down.

“You freed me from the monsters who murdered my family and you gave me to other monsters who murdered my family.” Sansa's voice is like ice, and she can see it burning him. “Go back to Moat Cailin, my brother and I will take back the North on our own, I never want to see you again.” Her body is consumed with anger, she can feel the tears in her throat but she refuses to let them fall.

He is not worthy of them.

“I would do anything to undo what's been done to you,” He begins, “but I know that I can't.” He only pauses for a brief moment before he speaks again. An evil sort of smirk on his lips. “Will you allow me to say one more thing before I go?”

Sansa only stares at him, waiting for him to continue.

“Your great-uncle, Brynden the Blackfish has regathered what remains of the Tully forces and retaken Riverrun, you might consider seeking him out. The time my come when you need an army loyal to you.”

“I have an army.” She tells him curtly.

He nods. “Your brother's army.”

Lord Baelish begins to walk away but stops, just a few feet away from her. “half brother.” He corrects himself, and leaves her then with a satisfied smirk twisted on his face.

 

He is waiting for them at the gates, her brother, her half brother. He is livid and Sansa can almost see the steam rising off of him as he paces there while she dismounts her horse. Brienne's eyes are full of concern but Sansa shakes her head, waving her hand to dismiss the woman.

“Where did you go?”

Sansa laughs. “I went to Mole's Town, I wanted to-”

“You left, and you didn't even tell me where you were going?” He snaps, and the entire yard of men stop. Its almost as quiet as when they reunited here just a few days ago. He turns his anger towards Brienne, “And you, you're supposed to protect her and you take her out there and risk her being exposed to the Bolton's?”

Brienne stops, her hand pausing over her sword. “I did as My Lady commanded.”

His eyes shoot back to Sansa.

She walks slowly over to her horse and pulls out some things she had picked up in town, an alibi for their expedition. There was some fabric and a pair of boots. “I needed some things that could not be found here in Castle Black.”

Jon's anger doesn't fade much, but it does subside a little bit. “I can send someone to pick up those things for you, Sansa.”

She looks at Brienne, who steps closer, her voice quiet as she speaks. “There are some things that a Lady shouldn't ask a man to pick up for her. I am sure you can gather what I am talking about?” She raises an eyebrow and Jon seems to get the gist of where this is going. He almost looks up at her apologetically.

“At least tell me that you're leaving next time.” He whispers, and turns on his heel, leaving the two of them alone. The men all get back to work, and the two women exchange a smile.

“How did you know that would work?”

“Mentioning things like that around men always sends them cowering.” She tells her seriously. “They can handle all the blood that comes with a battle, but that blood is always too much for them.”

Sansa smiles.

Brienne grew on her more every day.


	4. Battle Plans

Jon's small council of men were already gathered in the small room when Sansa and Brienne join them. Ser Davos, Tormund and Edd, along with the Red Woman, Melisandre. Sansa was most intrigued with her. The priestess had brought Jon back from the dead. But there was something about her, something that Sansa was also a little afraid of.

There was a map of the North laid out on the table, rocks had been placed along the map, different house sigils had been painted on them.

She sat next to Brienne, and Jon on the other side of her, began to address the group.

“We all know what we're facing here. The threat above the wall, and now we have a threat south of us.” His fists clench and he begins speaking again. “We can't defend the north from the walkers and the south from the Bolton’s. If we wanna survive we need Winterfell and to take Winterfell, we need more men.” He says, tossing one of the rocks across the map.

Sansa takes a deep breath. His anger was filling the room making hard to breathe.

She knew that she had agitated him by leaving, and she could not help but feel a little responsible for this foul mood he was in.

He walks away from the table with a frustrated sigh.

Sansa wrings her hands, looking across the table as Ser Davos begins to speak.

“Aside from the Starks and the Boltons, the most powerful houses in the North are the Umbers, the Karstarks and the Maderlys.” He rises up and grabs a few rocks. “The Umbers and the Karstarks have already declared for the Boltons, so we're not doing so well there.”

“The Umbers gave Rickon to our enemies, they can hang.” Sansa deadpans, looking down at the map as she speaks. “The Karstarks declared for Ramsay without knowing they had another choice.” She looks back up at Ser Davos as she speaks.

“I beg your pardon, My Lady, but they know that a Stark beheaded their father I don't think we can count on them either.”

She licks her lips, unclenching her hands and looking right in his eyes as she speaks. “How well do you know the North Ser Davos?”

“A precious little My Lady.” He admits, sitting down and lending her his full attention.

“My father always said that Northerners are different, more loyal, more suspicious of outsiders.”

He nods. “They well may be loyal but how many rose up against the Boltons when they betrayed your family?”

She is quiet for a long moment, trying to grasp at his words, trying to find something to say. She did not want to lose her faith in the North, it was her home and the Stark name still meant something.

It had to.

“I may not know the North, but I know men, they're more or less the same in any corner of the world, even the bravest of them don't want to see their wives and children skinned for a lost cause.” He tells her.

Sansa respected him. He looked her in the eyes as he spoke and he did not speak down to her like she was a child. It actually seemed like the respect was a mutual thing.

It was a new found thing for Sansa, having people respect her abd se was growing used to it.

“Jon’s gotta convince them to fight along side him, they need to believe it’s a fight they can win.”

“There are more than three other houses in the North,” Jon begins, and Sansa turns to look at him as he speaks. “Glover, Mormont, Cerwyn, Mazin, and Hornwood, ten dozen more.” He points each house out on the map. “Together, they equal all the others.” His voice grows quieter. “We can start small, and build.”

All the men around the table nod at him.

“The North Remembers.” Sansa begins. “They remember the Stark name people will still risk everything for it, from White Harbor to Ramsay's own door.”

“I don't doubt it.” Ser Davos tells her and he looks up at Jon. “But Jon doesn't have the Stark name.”

“No, but I do.” She tells him, her voice full of conviction and pride. “Jon is every bit as much Ned Stark's son as Ramsay is Roose Bolton's.” She adds that in, looking across the table at Ser Davos. “And there are also the Tully's they're not Northern, but they will back us against the Bolton's without question.”

“I didn't know the Tully's still had an army.” Ser Davos says, looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

“My uncle the Blackfish has reformed it and retaken Riverrun.” She says with a small satisfied smile.

“How do you know that?” Jon asks, turning his attwntion to her. His voice is calm, but Sansa can tell that he is not.

“Ramsay received a raven before I escaped Winterfell.” She says, then she looks up to meet his heated gaze. She smiles proudly, but his face does not falter.

Sansa feels Brienne stiffen next to her and she hopes no one else notices it.

She did not like lying, but there were bigger things at play here.

“That's good.” Ser Davis says, he is impressed and it makes Sansa smile even wider. “The Blackfish is a legend.”

Jon leans down on the table next to her and she wonders if he knows she's lying.

She did not want to lie to him. But she knew he would be angry with her for speaking to Lord Baelish and then allowing him to leave, unharmed.

Sansa did not want to upset Jon.

And some times, lies are necessary evils. She knew this well.

“His support would mean a great deal.” The older man says, standing up from hos seat and looking down at the map. He points as he speaks. “Stark, Tully, a few more houses, almost starts to look like a winning side.”

Sansa smiles. For the first time she actually felt like they could do this, that they could win.

“Brienne will ride to meet with my uncle in Riverrun and we'll go and meet with the other Northern houses.”

Both Jon and Brienne glare at her. Although Sansa does not acknowledge either of them.

Ser Davos nods, looking at her with a smirk.

She turns to Jon first. “We need to be a united front on this, don't you agree?”

“I don't want to risk you getting taken by the Boltons.”

Sansa shakes her head. “I know you won't let that happen.”

Jon sighs, relenting. Sansa knew he could not really argue with this logic, she could tell he wanted to but he offers her the same curt nod, his brown eyes staring into hers spoke all the words he couldn't.

As they a get up to leave, Sansa notices Brienne's pinched expression and she hopes she will wait to disagree until they are out of earshot of everyone else.

“I have sworn to protect you My Lady,” Brienne begins as they walk down the walkway to Sansa's chambers.

“You heard them, we need more men, and my uncle has an army.” Sansa tells her, her eyes cast forward. She could feel her hulking behind her and she was glad to have such a daunting presence on her side.

“We can send the Blackfish a raven.” Brienne offers, as Sansa pushes open the door to her chambers.

“We can't risk Ramsay intercepting it. It has to be you.” Sansa tells her sternly. “Ride for Riverrun. My uncle will talk to you and you'll know how to talk to him.” She finishes and finally turning to look at her.

Brienne's face is pained, and it makes Sansa feel bad, she knows something else is wrong with her.  
“What is it?” She asks, all the authority gone from her voice.

“I don’t like leaving you here alone.”

“With Jon?” Sansa asks.

“Not him, he seems trustworthy.” She tells her honestly. “A bit brooding perhaps – I suppose that's understandable, considering...” Brienne admits, pacing as she begins to speak again. “The other's though…” She pauses, her eyes looking far away for a moment. “Davos and The Red Woman helped a man murder his own brother, with bloodmagic.”

Her voice is even, but Sansa can see the desperation in her pale eyes. “And when Stannis paid for his crimes, where were they?” she continues, answering her own question.

“Already out looking for another leader with better prospects.” Her voice gets louder now, more desperate. “And that wildling fellow with the beard…”

“Jon isn't Tormund. Jon isn't Davos, The Red Woman or Stannis for that matter. Jon is Jon, he's my brother, he'll keep me safe.” She tells her. “I trust him.”

Brienne swallows, she seems to choose her next words very carefully. “Then why did you lie to him when he asked you how you learned about Riverrun?”

There really was nothing else to say but the truth, Sansa knew this. “I knew he would kill him.” She admits. “I knew Jon would not allow him to live.”

Brienne nods.

“We may need him someday, him and the Knights of the Vale.” Sansa tells her standing up and making sure to look her in the eyes as she speaks. “I couldn't risk it.”

 

* * *

 

 

They plan to leave the next day, and Sansa spends most of the night working on her dress. She wanted people to know the Stark's were still alive, and the name still rang true.

The direwolf design on the chest of her dress was a labor of love. She spent almost four hours stitching it and making sure it was perfect. It came together quite nicely, it was regal and beautiful.

As for Jon's cloak, Sansa had fashioned it to look like their father's. She hoped she did it justice and more than anything she hoped he would like it.

She knew Jon never cared for fine things, but Sansa wanted to do something nice for him.

He deserved so much more, but this was something she could give him now. She worked on the leather until her fingers bled, and finally she allowed herself to seek the comfort of her bed. Where Ghost already lay sleeping peacefully.

It was night of fitful sleep for her, even with the white direwolf curled up next to her. She stroked his fur absently, and tried to think about anything else but this impending battle.

She prayed these Northern houses would help them.

Sansa had never wanted anything more.

That next morning Sansa puts on her new dress, admiring the direwolf in the broken mirror one of the mem had found for her to use. It caught the morning light and sparkled, igniting her with pride she long since forgot.

She was Sansa Stark of Winterfell, and today she would be one step closer to reclaiming her home.

The others were all ready outside, readying their horses for the journey south. Jon walks slowly towards her, adjusting the leather gloves on his hands. Ghost was right on her curtails, and Jon smiles fondly at the wolf.

“New dress?” He asks. The snow was falling all around them, and it had almost covered his black hair.

Sansa looks down at the elegant dress and smiles. “I made it myself, do you like it?”

“Yeah its – I like the wolf bit.” He tells her, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Good.” She says looking down at the cloak in her arms as she hands it over to him with a proud smile. “Because I made this, for you.”

Jon’s gloved hands brush hers as he takes it, his eyes cast downward on the rich fabric, and the direwolf sigil embedded in the leather.

“I made it like the one father used to wear, as near as I can remember.”

Their eyes meet, and Sansa marvels at the way Jon's whole face lights up at his gift.

“Thank you, Sansa.”

She smiles. “You're welcome.”

He looks back down at the cloak and she leaves him there, walking towards her waiting horse.

The Red Woman is already mounted her stead, her dark eyes settle on her. She smiles faintly at her, nodding only a little. “My Lady.”

“I have been wanting to thank you.” Sansa says, looking up at her as she brushes the horses mane softly with her gloved hand. “For saving Jon.”

“I did nothing My Lady, I only said the words, the Lord of the Light brought him back.” Her horse trots a little, but she steadies him with the reins. “He has a greater purpose to serve in the wars to come.”

Sansa contemplates over her words for a moment, and her eyes wander towards her brother as he begins fastening his cloak. He is speaking to Edd, the two men are lost in their conversation and do not notice her staring.

“As do you, My Lady.”

Sansa turns her attention back to the priestess, her eyes narrowing. “What does that mean?”

“In time.” She tells her with a nod.

She trots her horse a few feet away, and Sansa climbs onto her white horse. She did not know what to make of the things she said, but they stick with her.

Sansa believes they always will.

And thus, their journey begins. Heading out into the unknown, all of them unsure about what might happen next.


End file.
